


pace is the trick

by vulpesvortex



Category: Mission: Impossible (Movies), Mission: Impossible - Ghost Protocol (2011), Mission: Impossible - Rogue Nation (2015)
Genre: Drunken Kissing, First Kiss, M/M, Snowed In, Team Bonding, Team Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-24 09:36:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6149272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vulpesvortex/pseuds/vulpesvortex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes three bottles of vodka is all you need to get somewhere.</p>
            </blockquote>





	pace is the trick

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was 100% inspired by [this TFLN pic](http://foxesonstilts.tumblr.com/post/140336678232) on Tumblr.

Benji’s not sure what sets them off. Yes, it’s the tail-end of a hellish two-month mission that almost put them all through the meat grinder, but it’s nowhere near the closest they’ve ever cut it on a mission. (Mumbai, in particular, springs to mind.) He suspects it might be because it’s the first time they’ve got nowhere to go. They’re stuck in a dingy hotelroom in Yekatarinburg, a blizzard raging outside hard enough to rattle the windows that are frosting over with ice in the corners. There’s no way they’re flying out of here until tomorrow, or the day after.  
  
All they have is time, each other, and the hotel’s sizeable stash of Russian Standard.  
  
It’s past midnight now, and two of the bottles are gone. Will is lining up a row of shots on the coffee table with the third bottle, frowning endearingly as he concentrates on pouring the vodka. Behind him, the weather channel is broadcasting updates on the snowstorm in bored Russian, dark clouds shifting on the television screen to illustrate the cold front moving over the southern cities.  
  
Benji smiles, and takes the shot Will offers him.  
  
“За здoрoвье,” Will slurs, bumping his shoulder against Benji’s and knocking back the shot.  
  
“За здoрoвье,” Benji says, trying to articulate the toast the way it’s supposed to, but he slips a little on the ‘e’ and ends up sliding it into a ‘yay’. Next to him, Will snorts before tipping over and falling back against the plush carpet.  
  
“Жарко,” Will says dreamily, spreading his arms against the carpet. Benji doesn’t blame him: the heating’s turned all the way up, and the room is warm with the combined heat of their bodies. Will’s still wearing his silky grey dress shirt, though the sleeves are rolled up to the elbows and the top two buttons are undone. One of his hands comes up to fiddle with the third one.  
  
“Идёт снег,” Benji feels forced to point out, waving at the window. Snow whirls against the glass in white flurries that are swallowed almost immediately by the darkness of night.  
  
“Why are you speaking Russian?” Jane asks. She’s hanging over the back of the couch, giggling drunkenly in a pair of men’s sweatpants – Benji can’t remember which of them lent them to her, hours before when she was changing out of her opera gown. She’s beautiful and smiling, making little hiccuppy laughter sounds, and Benji thinks idly how lovely it is to see her happy. He knows things have been hard for her for a long time.  
  
Ethan’s on the other end of the couch, feet in Jane’s lap, that dopey smile on his face that means he’s thinking of Julia, and not the bad times.    
  
Benji flops down next to Will, slotting beneath his outstretched arm on the floor. “I’ve forgotten how to change back,” he tells Jane in Russian. He feels uncomplicatedly happy.  
  
Will giggles and wraps his arm around Benji’s neck, cradling his head against his shoulder in a mock-headlock. “You just wanna show off,” he says fondly. “Your Russian’s better than any of ours.”  
  
Benji snorts. “It’s definitely better than Ethan’s,” he mumbles into Will’s shoulder.  
  
“Mine’s servicable!” Ethan protests and flops half-off the couch to slap Benji’s socked foot.  
  
“Friendly fire! Friendly fire!” Benji yells, trying to roll away but held back by Will’s arm around his neck. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Jane roll her eyes and reach for the next shot of vodka.  
  
Somehow the wiggling turns into wrestling and he and Will roll around the floor, laughing and yelling as they try to put the other in a lock. Will overbalances and ends up accidentally elbowing Benji in the stomach, and Benji’s “Oof!” turns into a bright bark of laughter at the shocked puppy look Will gives him.  
  
“I’m alright, I’m alright,” Benji huffs, chest heaving with laughter and exertion under Will’s thighs where he’s sitting on top of him.  
  
“Sorry,” Will says, grinning in a way that makes that seem like a baldfaced lie.  
  
“Ethan, I’m going to need you to put me on IR when we come back,” Benji jokes. “Grievous bodily harm. And crushing-related injuries,” he adds, pushing half-heartedly at Will.  
  
Ethan, who was in the process of crawling back onto the couch, stops and turns to give him a look. “I can’t put you on IR, we need tech support on the Cordoba mission.”  
  
Benji groans. “Call Luther.”  
  
Ethan’s face lights up at the suggestion, and he’s got his phone out before Jane slaps it out of his hands. “Not right now!”  
  
Ethan looks crushed.  
  
Will flips up Benji’s shirt and kisses his stomach. “There, I fixed it. No one’s going on injury reserve.”  
  
“I can’t believe you were about to drunk-dial Luther,” Jane huffs, disbelieving. “And you!” She points at Will, who pops up like a rabbit in the snow. For a moment she seems worked up for a scolding, but then suddenly deflates and throws up her hands. “Honestly, I don’t even know where to start with you two.”  
  
Will grins charmingly. In vain, since Jane is pretty much immune to any of their charms.  
  
“Voodoo,” Benji says.  
  
“ _You two_ ,” Jane singsongs, collapsing into laughter. “ _Voodoo, who do_?”  
  
“What’s voodoo?” Will asks. He’s still straddling Benji’s hips and Benji’s thinking that, maybe, that’s going to be a problem in a minute. Or maybe not, given the amount of vodka in his system right now.  
  
“Your smile doesn’t work on Jane.” He throws an accusing look at Jane.  
  
Benji is 90% sure the little hiproll Will does is unintentional, but he feels himself go red anyway. “Are you saying it works on you?” Will asks curiously.  
  
“Of course it works on me, are you kidding,” Benji scoffs. He thinks his hands may be on Will’s hips. Even if nothing’s happening below the belt, that’s pretty bad. Jane thinks so too, ‘cause she takes one look at them and jumps off the couch.  
  
“Okay, that’s it for me!” she says, voice pitching higher than usual. She grabs Ethan’s foot and tries to drag him off the couch, but he clings stubbornly to the armrest and she gives up.  
  
“Fine, that’s your funeral,” she mutters, swiping the bottle of Standard off the table and making a break for the bedroom, only swaying a little. “I’ll just be in here thinking about David Bowie in leggings,” she informs them. The door slams determinedly shut behind her.  
  
“I don’t know why she’s running,” Benji comments sadly. “If I could get it up I definitely would have by now.”  
  
Ethan makes an alarmed noise into the pillows.  
  
“Really?” Will doesn’t even spare Ethan a glance. Instead he leans forward and pins Benji’s wrists against the carpet. Benji rolls his eyes. As if he was going anywhere. For an analytical genius, Will can be surprisingly obtuse.  
  
“You’re literally sitting on my dick, Will,” Benji deadpans.  
  
Will doesn’t even have the good grace to blush, just lets out a drunken giggle and very decidedly stays put.  
  
“I think,” Benji says, pausing for effect, “you headbutted me in the mouth, before. You should take responsibility, fix that too.”  
  
“It doesn’t look hurt,” Will says.  
  
“Oh, believe me,” Benji can barely keep a straight face at this point, the whole thing is so ridiculous, but he’s drunk as shit and this is the smoothest move he has, “it’s _aching_.”  
  
Will bursts into laughter, bright and loud until he’s shaking with it. He lurches forward, propping himself up on one elbow, and kisses Benji.  
  
It’s messy; they’re both drunk and still laughing, and there’s a loud crash as Ethan tips the couch over so he doesn’t have to see them, but it’s a kiss, a declaration, they’ve conquered this new territory and its theirs now. They’ll do better in the morning, but for now it’s more than enough.  
  
“When I’m sober I’m writing us all up for Conduct Unbecoming,” Ethan grumbles sourly from behind the couch.  


**Author's Note:**

> Translations (though should be mostly evident from context):  
> За здoрoвье - To your health! (a toast)  
> Жарко -(It's) hot  
> Идёт снег -It's snowing


End file.
